


If You're Lookin' For A Fool

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Bitterness, Drunk!Angry!James, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reeling in the wake of his wife's confessions, James goes a little off the rails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You're Lookin' For A Fool

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this came from discovering a song by the same title by a guy named Webb Wilder, and while it's pretty obscure you can find it if you look. It's a companions piece to _A Song Unsung_.

James was drunk. Gloriously, thoroughly, _wretchedly_ drunk. The bottle might not be a fit companion, but it made him feel better, at least a little. Maybe he'd become an alcoholic. She might love him again if he did. If that was what turned her on, no wonder someone else had sloshed her way into his marriage.

He'd moved out of the house in Georgetown and taken an apartment elsewhere. He needed space, and though everything in him wanted to talk to her, he'd resisted the urge. When he'd said no contact, he'd meant _no_ contact. He'd set a limit, and that meant he had to stick to it. Some of the people she worked with had tried to step in, and he'd brushed off their efforts. They were _her_ friends, and he didn't want to hear any possible rationalizations.

There was a bar close to his new apartment, and James was currently occupying a stool at the end of the wooden counter drinking his fifth - or was it sixth? - whiskey. However many he'd had, it no longer burned going down. He'd thought of asking the bartender for the bottle, but that would have been too obvious. The brown liquid in the glass made the light murky when he held it up and stared through it owlishly. He was feeling sorry for himself and he knew it, but damn it, he had a right to feel sorry for himself for a minute. _Other_ people got divorced. It wasn't supposed to happen to him. To _them_.

"Pour me one more."

He said it in a mutter before finishing his latest drink, and the bartender eyed him dubiously. "You driving?"

James put the glass down on the bar with more precision than should have been necessary, blinked slowly. "No," he said sarcastically. "I skateboarded down here."

"I'm gonna have to ask you for your keys. The last thing I need is to get sued 'cause you cracked up your car." 

He held out his hand, and the other man looked at it before rubbing a hand over his mouth, which had gone a little numb. He was hurt and he was angry and his Goddamned _wife_ was in love with another woman, and this idiot was hassling him for his keys? Seriously? **Seriously**? James slid off of the stool, and his knees almost didn't lock. He braced his weight with one hand, resting it on the polished surface. 

"Pour me a drink," he insisted, and he was fumbling into his pocket for some bills. He wanted to be numb, to drink until he was _blind_. His life would suck just as much once he was sober again, so what was the harm in escaping for a night or two?

The bartender, whose name was Huey, had folded his arms when the money fluttered like wounded birds to the dark wood instead of picking it up. "On second thought, I think it'd be better if I cut you off," He'd dealt with pugnacious drunks before, and this guy wasn't something he felt like putting up with.

James grabbed for the other man's shirt, tried to haul him closer, but his grip was loose. His other hand was still braced against the counter. The bartender batted his hand away, and James' knees threatened to sag. Definitely too much whiskey.

"That's it, you're cut off."

"Fuck you."

Huey made a fist, reached for him with his free hand. James braced himself. If the guy knocked him out, unconsciousness might be a relief.

"Huey!"

The voice was female, and the bartender looked off to the side. "What?"

"You know what. I've warned you about that."

James turned, looked at the newcomer. She was young, or youngish, with long blonde hair streaked in places with bright red. He scowled at her, but she ignored it. The bartender had gradually relaxed his grip on his shoulder, having lost the staring contest. Unconsciousness wasn't going to be happening just yet, and James couldn't decide if he was angry about that or not.

"Get him out of here." It was a mutter, bordering on a mumble.

"He's going, he's going." Blonde-And-Red picked up the scattered cash on the bar and tucked it into his shirt pocket. She had to reach up a bit to do it. "Come on, big fella," she said companionably, and she had an arm around his waist. He was embarrassed because he had to lean on her to avoid staggering. Maybe that becoming an alcoholic thing wasn't for him after all.

And she'd always had the habit of picking up strays, or at least she'd acquired the habit since she'd gotten older. Right now, she was in the process of guiding this guy out to the parking lot. It was a windy night, and she was pondering the wisdom of putting him in a cab. Given the shape he was in, he was a likely target for getting rolled. Even the cab drivers in Washington weren't above mugging. Halfway across the lot, she changed her course, her slender arm still around his waist.

"Where're we going?" His words had begun to slur, and his head felt as if it weighed ten thousand pounds. _She_ had shepherded him along like this more than once, usually after an anniversary dinner when he'd been too free with pouring the champagne. He made a noise down in his chest, the hurt of what had happened surging out from under the protective layer of drunkenness. If he cried, it was going to piss him off.

"I'm taking you home."

Her girlfriend would bitch about it, but this was her way of paying it forward for all the times when she herself had needed someone to scrape her up off of the floor. She could put him on the futon in the spare room. It would be better than leaving him in his car or something.

She had a Buick, an old rattletrap of a car she'd bought years ago. She'd named it Clarence. "I'm just gonna put you in here until I finish my shift. It'll be a half hour, no more than that."

Too drunk to protest, James allowed himself to be bundled into the car's back seat, and he slumped against the seat before trying to stretch out. The world was spinning as if it were on ball-bearings. The dim light from a nearby streetlamp made her look even younger. Up close, he could see a tattoo peeking out from under her shirt sleeve. A fin? A tail? It was too dark to tell. Her red-streaked hair fell over one shoulder, and she pushed it out of her face when it obscured her vision. 

"She left me. Or she's gonna leave me."

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that." Blonde-And-Red's face was too hidden in shadow for him to read her expression, but her tone sounded kind. Despite himself, James sniffled, feeling stupid and childish. 

"I'll be back." The Buick's heavy door clunked shut, and Rayanne peered in through the window. He was staring straight ahead, probably trying not to cry. She would have to check the fridge for her hangover cure, or make some in the morning. The dude was going to need it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna leave this here, and then run away. :-P


End file.
